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Shin Jun 10
The hours rest wearily on your shoulders.
Wisdom come and gone, soulful glancing blows.
A world captured, a moment filled with breath.
Let your mind erase, let the answers flow.
The ease of sunset will hold tightly to your hand.
The emptiness of the moon will sooth the scars.
A pinprick of a puddle cooling your flesh.
Eyes dulled, grey, mediocrity shining through.
The final uttered words of the ******,

"Let it Be."
Sorry for stealing your lyric Paul
Carlo C Gomez Apr 19
Cold and clinging
Kind of evening
At the steps of
The Dakota archway
Are you banging your head
against a wall, Holden Caulfield?
Beautiful boy
(Darling boy)
But the limousine was waiting
Annie Leibovitz had the final image
"And I'm standing on the edge
of some crazy cliff.
That's all I do all day.
I'd just be
the catcher in the rye and all."
On the evening of 8 December 1980, John Lennon was fatally shot by Mark David Chapman in the archway of the Dakota, his residence in New York City.
Paul Butters Apr 10
As I walk out of my door
A clichéd cacophony of birdsong
Surrounds me with beauty
And uplifts my soul.

Yet we humans too love to sing
And play those instruments:
Creating lullabies, arias, symphonies,
Serenades and rock and roll shows.
To name but a few.

Angelic choirs in lofty minsters,
Lifting us up to the stars,
Embracing God in Heaven.
Heavy metal bands
Thrashing out thunder
In stadia seething with singing fans.
Brass bands too: trumpeting and rumpeting
In a crescendo of sound.

Hear those trembling triangles and sublime wind chimes.
Feel those bouncing drums.
Twanging, sweeping, swooning
Plucking, soaring, crying
Tinkling pianos and weeping violins.
Whole orchestras of mind-blowing sound,
Welsh rugby crowds
And the Liverpool Kop.

Magical music:
From spiritually haunting
To simply getting laid.
Bringing out the animal in us:
Passion and desire
Raw emotion
Or else the supernatural
Ethereal skyscapes
Sometimes sheer dread
And horror.

Watch any good film:
The musical score is everything:
“Star Wars”, “Gone with the Wind”, “******”
“Battlestar Gallactica”, “Ben Hur”…
Beethoven, Mozart, The Beatles
The Stones, Queen, Genesis…
So much to love
Chuck Berry and Elvis
Rocking and rolling and reeling
And stealing our minds away.

So let’s get singing
And dancing
And banging those drums,
Flexing our plectrums
To make one helluva
Let that magical music play
For Ever.

Paul Butters

© PB 10\4\2020.
Let Us Play...
So, I’m no good at online dating / That is to say I do this to myself / After a couple days of messaging, a woman asks me to write her a poem / I see this as a good thing / We have a 97% match according to the algorithm / And she says she likes the beetles / And I say I don’t like typos / I tell her I will write her a poem / And I won’t give that poem to you because it was for her / I will tell you, it began with dung beetles / I waxed poetic about how they carry **** around for three things: / love / food / and a home. / Of course I don’t know that dung beetles experience romantic love / Or I don't know that / But I do know they stare at the stars / They are the only other animal on this planet we’ve found that does that / I wonder if they — too — get lost in fireflies / There is a place in Tennessee I haven’t  been to yet / but my brother lives close by / and the fireflies there, they synchronize their lights while mating / I compare this to the planets lining up / How people assign such power and luck to small dots in the sky / How people assign luck to the dots on a lady bug’s back / How people assign luck to lady bugs / How lady bugs got their name and are perceived as a religious symbol / So are dung beetles / I’m sorry — they preferred the term scarabs / They used to push the sun across the sky / We used to give such power to such small things / And all they are doing is searching for is: / love / food / and a home. / The poem I send her is filled with Beatles references, too / Because I wanted her to know I actually knew what she was saying / Because all we need is love / Because all I really want to do is hold her hand / Because I'd just seen a face I can't forget / She doesn’t like the joke / Or the poem / Or me / Or I assume / because she never messages back / I still hope she finds those three things / Love / Food / and Home.
Mark Toney Nov 2019
Wood you marry me?
I love you can't you see?
I hope you will agree
So please, please, please,
Marry me...

They say it's no good
Because you're made of wood
For me it's understood
So please, please, please,
Marry me...

Wooden dummy
You give me fits
Please marry me!

Please take my hand
Together we can stand
Our life will be so grand
So please, please, please,
Marry me...

I'll have your back
You by my side
It's just like that
Please be my bride!

Life will be complete
My mouth closed when you speak
Our future bright not bleak
So please, please, please,
Marry me...
1-19-2019 - Poetry form: Light Verse - The Beatles tune I had in mind when I wrote this poem is "Love Me Do." FYI- In case you haven't yet figured it out, the first word "Wood" is an intentional pun. This poem is loosely based on "And So Died Riabouchinska," broadcast in 1956 as the twentieth episode of the first season of Alfred Hitchcock Presents. It's based on a Ray Bradbury story, and starred Claude Raines and a young Charles Bronson. And, of course, we can't forget Riabouchinska. She's a doll ;) Actually, she's a ventriloquist's dummy that Claude Raines falls in love with. Yikes! - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2019
Kenshō Oct 2019
Crossroad of the Mirror's Bend-
Twilight Chasms to the Hedge Tend.

A riddle of vines, answering to where trees extend;
And whispering trails of resonant Hornblende.

Sense a sign where the (M.) Glories ascend,
'Till the trail merges with the meadows end.

Beyond where lands are laid,
Cold Mountain is where I strayed.

I forgot all concept and form
And by the void was ordained.

I lost my name
When I came to the Gateless Gate..

I learned that all humans are the same
beneath the feign.

And the only reason government exists
Is that there's something to gain.

Pursuit and Pain,
Name and Fame,

here that doesn't matter;
here that's just matter.

The city I'm from is the city I shatter.
The seeds I bear are the seeds I scatter.

There's no need for a cheute
When you aren't climbing the ladder.

Most people are formal not formers;
So, in that case I'll have the latter.

You are living in a state of matter;
To me, its a matter of state.

Break the Frameless Gate
And wipe clean Locke's Slate.

Wait, that's tabula rasa, this ain't a debate!
See, you don't even know what the schools were built on you fools!

A world of jewels formed in the perfection of the bend~
A world of molecules spinning, hovering, in the end~

Whatever you believe
It's simply an intellectual tease..

Of what really claims to be,
Like the sound of the bird or a rustle of a tree.

So before you leave
I just wanted to see-

That if I told you this
You might walk the woods with me.

Because, lately I have been oft lonely
And they say I have been soft, only..

I feel a callus around my heart..
God seems to be performing some sort of complex art..

I have seen something in the end;
Yet, I cannot see where to start.

I see all of motion, like time, suspend.
I seem to see you all clearly again, then.

God speaks to me through language, transcend
And I know it was fully my part.

To move through space like my heart
And to the truth I will ever defend~

So, when I'm calling and the meaning ascends,
I pray for the lock to be broken again.

So my slate can be clean from what has been
and to the garden tend-

Because, the reflection in my eye
has made me cry.

When I look from now to then;
But, just know now that was all pretend.

Now I break a spell to start again, listen.
My tear is for you, and, from it, all glistens.

Yet we lose sight of what all the lord mights.
~Toss a yin and yang~

Like, day is just the absence of night;
Or, vision is darkness' gift to sight.

See, what is real?
And what really matters?

When I cast my mind like a reel,
Meaning seems to scatter.

An unconscious wind takes my breath away
And I come conscious to what is on my platter

I can clearly see a pathway
And all of life becomes a screenplay.

The sky is my sensei
And no human do I obey.

Because, if this was the Beatles' Way
then I would be the f^#%k!ng Blue Jay~

And I'm coming to see you
In the garden when I pass through.

Tip your hat to a Psychedelic Cat
For when all this is through,
It will have been a picture you drew.

So, I'm tired of the fake and hate;
Just give Love and Compassion.

To all your brothers and sisters
And that doesn't have to rhyme.
मैं तुमसे बहुत प्यार करता हु

listen and recite
Mark Toney Oct 2019
George Harrison
Quiet Beatle by comparison
Kermit the Frog was one of his peeps
Still his guitar gently weeps
6/11/2019 - Poetry form: Clerihew - When George Harrison was on Saturday Night Live on November 20, 1976, Jim Henson also had a spot on the show and his Muppets appeared on a regular basis during that season. The opportunity arose for George and Kermit to meet. - Copyright © Mark Toney | Year Posted 2019
Someone Aug 2019
As a friend said there's no cure for love , no matter how hard I try , I can't keep my eyes dry , all you need is love but love for me is you  so ,there's no cure for love
'Way from Kraken gurgle, Harpic Sarlacc, full-
throated Flush Monster, back to bed I'd hurry
during the weeing hours o' childhood mornindigo.
When Percy points at the porcelain, the porcy
lain points back at Percy.

Used & abused water
more than the icon, Sea, but at that age,
I don't suppose I was thinking
of fatbergs & rat kings,

****** miles of shiteating grim
fundus, universal bucket leaking in each
bubble's corner.
No carminatives, no angst, no Armitage H.
Shanks: incorporeal the wretch

Insta-famous. 'Dontcha believe it!'
answers the ****, the ****
of Om. Ad profundum,
do sewers need hellcraft?
Don't forget to...Baptismal epitaph

of **** is abysmal, craptismal
welcome to our round world
via u-bends sinister. Whole scatolocus
be curved crud, our home clod
w/ its bogs of cod.

But thru the eye of a needle our narrow
focus takes us
down the Euroshopper **** canal flannel channel
to where kermit quack deterges
(from a high grate) Kermit the Crocodile's scales,

wargreen as a black Atlantic gator.
I am the eggbound, goo goo
g'jobbie! But it's time to putaway such childish things:
in reality, the Ninja Turtles' HQ
is covered in poo.

& verrucas ebola ebolasalt logorrhea logonorrhea
semolinapilchard eczemacetera. Stereotypical-
ly British/puerile/Licean to
stir urea o' tepid pools,
torpid stools, fool-

hardy too, lest guileless sewage
triumfartly splurts
from madid, olid mouse 'oles.
Horizontal geysewers l/ foudroyant
hydrants of tempted fate,

rumble thy smellyful! Revacuate, adobe draftexcluders
miasmatic! Revoid, renal vino! & muckup halcyon
skirtingboards! A soapy bath concludes the

coprocobraing in Pythagorrhea of ricoshite.
Feeshus lept, Jesus wept! Misfortune we miss
is the best luck, so thank Chod such an agitplop
contraflow of floaters against th'Effluent is
not forthplumbing. Eccrisis

is natural, nitrous, noxious
& necessary, our meconium island babies.
But nothing pooing is sweetsmelling nothing doing,
blows unblocked felicity in my
direction (an angel's cloaca of invisibility).
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